#gortash: a stupid fucking one

[maegalkarven]

I'm crying over the comedic potential of Gortash having feelings for someone with 8 int.

Like, Levi is an idiot! He is this "because we're smart" meme from Parks &Recs. He is charming and funny and wise, but he is Not Clever.

How humiliating it has to be being attracted to him of all people? Especially when Gortash values intellect a great deal.

Also I just bet the "immune to emotions-altering influence" part of the Cloth of Authority is partly because of Levi.

Because there's no way Gortash actually feels all these emotions for that murder hobo on his own, there's no fucking way-

But then he takes the cloth of authority on and nothing changes.

Oops. How does it feel to be a human being, Lord Gortash?

[trappedinafantasy37]

All forms of media (video games, TV shows, art, movies, books, etc) are all meant to be social and/or political commentaries. In fact, I can't think of an example of a recent creation that isn't political in some way. And Baldur's Gate 3 is not an exception. It is political. And if you think it is not, it is because you are not paying attention, or you are failing to extrapolate the lessons of the game into real life. One of the points of fiction and entertainment is to provide us with a safe way to view and interact with the evils of the world. To show us how evil happens to begin with, and how it is allowed at all. If we can see what evil looks like, and how it comes to pass, then we will be able to recognize it in real life and potentially stop it.

No, I'm not saying that Larian made this game to be a commentary of the US specifically. The things that happen in the game are happening somewhere in the world. Right. Now. It is fantasy for some, but reality to many others.

There is a reason why so many people, most especially women, flock to a character like Astarion. And no, it's not just because he's a pretty bad boy vampire. But because millions of women (and men) in the world understand what it's like to be sexually assaulted. To be enslaved. To be someone's property and a toy. To be used and abused and denied your autonomy. To scream and cry and yell and shout and beg for mercy from the gods. But no one is listening. No one cares. And they say that it is all your fault. Women cling to him because they find comfort in his story and they see a reflection of themselves in him. And they have extrapolated his character into their personal lives to help them heal from their traumas. Astarion is not real. But he represents the millions of people in the world who have been raped.

There are many different ways you can interpret Shadowheart's story, but I always found it to be an allegory for queerness / transness. She knows who she is deep down, but she has been beaten and indoctrinated over and over to believe that who she is wrong. Everytime she exerted a will of her own, she was forced into conversion therapy and had her mind wiped so she can be reprogrammed. And when that began to fail, her god inserted a permanent tether into her soul. To remind her that god is always watching, and will punish her for her sins. Shadowheart rejects Shar because she feels that she is in a safe environment to do so. That those who are around her will not judge her, ridicule her, or treat her like she ha a moral failure for just being who she is. But that rejection comes at a price where she has to choose her parents or chronic pain for the rest of her life. But if Shadowheart does not feel safe to live as herself, she goes into the closet forever and denies herself and has to put up an act for as long as she may live. She forces herself to subscribe to this dogma because she feels she has no other choice, and to be a blind follower means to be without pain. Shadowheart is not real. But she represents the millions of gay and trans people in the world who have been outcasted and abused by religion and the law. Where they feel it safer to deny who they are, then run the risk of the wrong person finding out who they love.

The grove conflict, is a very real reality right now. Innocent people are experiencing a genocide. And the people conducting such genocide have framed these innocent people as evil monsters. These actual literal genocidal lunatics truly to their core believe that they have the god given right to kill these innocent people because they are an affront to their god and that the land they occupy does not belong to them. There are children in the world right now who are burning alive in a genocide because the people who are burning them believe these children to have been born evil. Of course they claim that these refugees are hiding weapons of mass destruction, how else are they going to justify destroying safe places like schools, hospitals, and actual refugee camps? And the people who have the power to do something to protect these innocent refugees, would rather they be tossed out and left vulnerable to their murderers, because that is more convenient than helping them. That the people who can help are purposefully closing their borders, because they too see these refugees as lures for danger. The tieflings are not real. But they represent the millions of Palestinians and many others who are dying in a genocide right now.

And this man is not real, but he is the president elect of the United States. Gortash won. The Absolute won.

And I wish we had a simple and easy explanation of 72 million Americans have tadpoles in their brains and were forced to vote for Gortash. But in reality, not everyone in the Absolute had a tadpole. Not everyone was a True Soul. A mass majority were willing participants of the Absolute. They never once communed with the elder brain and have never received direct orders from it. They saw what the Absolute is, they saw what it can do, and it was not a deal breaker for them. They chose to follow along with it willingly, thinking that the Absolute was here for them. They were not mind controlled, but they were brainwashed in their own way. And for those who are not brainwashed, they simply do not care. They want to revel in the Absolute's cruelty and how it is going to hurt the people of the world because they themselves want to deal the cruelty.

Gortash is a slaver and a tyrant and he is very up front and in your face about it. He feels no guilt, he feels no shame, and he is well aware of how he induces suffering on those around him. And the moment he became Archduke, he slaughtered everyone who got him into power because he didn't want to share it nor run the risk of them turning against him. You may be able to make a deal with Gortash but he was never going to keep up his end of the bargain. Just like an embraced Durge betrays their romance partner, Gortash would have betrayed you (and even Durge). Because tyrants do not share, and they do not step down. Tyrants are not just tyrants only on day one or for just one term. They are tyrannical always and will do everything they can to stay in power permanently. Tyrants do not play fair. They get into power through perceivingly legitimate means. But when you find out it wasn't legitimate, it's too late. They've removed your ability to not only remove them from power, but prevent you from getting anyone else to replace them.

Gortash didn't just come from nowhere. He has been a duke in the city for a very long time. People know who he is and what he is about. The people at his coronation were there out of genuine support for him, knowing exactly who he is and saw no issue with what he was doing because they all benefited from it. The only one at that coronation who was not a willing participate, was Ulder Ravengard (A BLACK MAN). Gortash used a literal puppet government to get himself into power and silenced all dissent.

I do not know about you, but who Gortash represents was pretty damn obvious to me. The game demonstrated how people like Gortash can get into power at all and remain in power. Gortash manipulated people's fear of the world, and he used religion to do it. He implemented the Steel Watch and militarized the police, and to have constant surveillance on the people. Where any slight transgression will be met with hostility, and the people will cheer because they see violence as a necessary means of keeping the peace. Where if you just didn't step out of line, then maybe the Steel Watcher wouldn't need to pulverize you in the street. He uses the media and is constantly pumping out propaganda to love him. He created a problem, news of the problem spread, and then he sold a solution. He promised to keep everyone safe, protected, and made promises of law and order against this unruly chaos (a chaos he created). Where any opposing opinion is othered and regarded as being too radical to be a sane or legitimate opinion. He enslaved a group of racial minorities and used the livelihoods of their children as collateral. And instead of putting the blame on the slaver, radicals like Wulbren put the blame on the slaves.

The events surrounding Gortash and the Absolute have been unfolding here in the States for a very long time and all of this did not just come out of nowhere. This didn't just start happening 8 years ago in 2016, this was decades in the making and there is still plans for more to come. This wasn't an accident, everything is working by design.

Gortash is not real. But Donald Trump is. That should scare you.

[archduke-enver-gortash]

posting on here is like my sisyphean boulder i'm constantly rolling tbh

[x-nephophile-x]

You ever just make an OC for a fun little small idea and now suddenly she rules your braincell? The 20 minute screentime man ever become a blorbo that demands you write 15k words for him? I'm going to start BITING

[nightingaletrash]

Tallis stomped on the special tadpole right in the Emperor's face and he called her an 'absolute horror'

My guy, have you not been paying any attention to who you're dealing with?

[fishing-for-blood]

I made the funniest mistake possible in a family Snapchat group omfg. I was at the store looking for a new lunchbox for my dad (he is picky AF) and sent pictures of a couple options to my mom and brother for opinion and

I ACCIDENTALLY INCLUDED A SCREENSHOT OF GORTASH'S NOTABLE FEATURES. HELP

The lunchbox is permanently armed and a crossbow expert. I fucking guess!!

[tsaritza-mika]

Sorry not Sorry guys...

I respect all your inter-companion romance ships, and I hope they bring you joy and endless inspiration, but I have a primal need for something different. I don't need my companions dating each other.

I need them to be the most dysfunctional yet supportive found family they can be

I need Karlach to be literal 'Mama K' and grab Shadowheart and Lae'zel by the scruff and put them on coat hangers, telling them that if they can't say anything nice, then shut the fuck up for five minutes and if they can do that, then she'll come and let them down

I need Astarion and Gale to get into such a spat that all dignity and posh goes out the fucking window, and they devolve into two grown-ass men having a 13-year-old style slap fight while calling each other the harshest of obscenities, but if anyone from the outside tries calling either of them less than fabulous, they join forces and fuck them up

I need Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel to do each other's hair while discussing all the ways they've taken down various opponents and monsters, and how they would have done things better

I need Jaheira just smacking everyone upside the head whenever they say or do something stupid. Because gods dammit why is she always the only one who can see trouble from a hundred miles away, only to have her perception check fail and stumble right into a trap Halsin had set up to catch food for dinner

I need Astarion to embroider offensive cross stitch into every other companion's tents when he's left behind at camp, for no other reason than he's feeling salty that day

I need Halsin to wildshape into a bear just so he can surprise Karlach with an actual bear and Clive having a tea party with flower crowns and drawings of the horrible ways Gortash will be killed

I need Shadowheart being a petty bitch and letting anyone who was being especially stupid in a fight get a little too close to death as punishment before finally healing them. Because that's just what healers do

I need Gale pranking people with his spells. Use mage hand to yank the rug out from under Lae'zel after she insisted that he was too squishy to fight properly. Casting 'create water' over Shadowheart to ruin her makeup in retaliation for saying last night's stew was a bit bland. Use Telekinesis to fling Astarion off in some random direction because dammit Gale just woke up, and the man needs his coffee before he can properly deal with all of that first thing in the damn morning

I need Lae'zel to take pillow fights just a little too seriously

I need Wyll begging Halsin and Jaheira if they can wildshape into a bear and a shark just so he can ride both of them through the Chionthar while recklessly casting Fireball and Lightning Bolt at the sky, because just think of how cool he would look doing it

[animentality]

it's so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so fucking stupid how the Dark Urge goes to Gortash and is like I killed Orin, and he's like good job I bet Bhaal is so proud of you.

And you're like no, I rejected him, and Gortash immediately backtracks and says, I'm so proud of you.

Like oh you rejected Bhaal??? Well you won't reject me because I'm a ride or die.

You serve no one. Not even me. Babe.

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise - Part II

Synopsis: One month has passed since you reluctantly became Lord Gortash's concubine. You ought to hate him--yet your heart seems to disagree.

A/N: When inspiration strikes…you gotta strike back! Took a bit longer than I expected but here we go! :D

You can read Part I here!

Words: 2523 Warnings: violence, blood, mentions of prostitution, concubine!Reader

“Good morning, dear. I take it you’ve had sweet dreams?”

You stirred, eyes flying open. You were warm, and comfortable. Cosy. Your head was resting on Gortash’s naked chest, his right arm pressing you close against his body. You had gotten so used to his presence and the intimacy between you that you didn’t even flinch away when his fingertips ghosted over your bare shoulder but instead��took relish in it.

“Morning…”

One whole month. You had been keeping an eye on the calendar on Gortash’s desk. You were surprised, to say the least. Part of you had suspected he would grow tired of you after a few days and move on to the next whore he’d be given for free. Perhaps one that would throw herself at him.

Alas, as much as you hated to admit it, you had begun to enjoy his company. Enver Gortash was as insufferable as he was megalomaniacal. But he was charming, too. No wonder the city gladly accepted him as its hero and saviour.

His mask was perfect. You very much doubted he truly did have a heart for the homeless and the poor though. Only yesterday had you overheard him talk about increasing the tax rates for small businesses for more profit to put into his Steel Watch. Now that you spent so much time with him, you would have believed his chivalry too had you not known the truth. A good man did not keep concubines, not like this. A good man did not have rumours spread about him worshipping one of the dead three.

And yet, despite everything, part of you was growing…grateful. He’d kept his promise. Thanks to him, you barely remembered what hunger was now. He had gotten you so many dresses you could never decide what to wear and every night, you shared his bed, warm and comfortable, nestled underneath his soft sheets.

The sex was phenomenal, of course. Just like the very first time he had claimed you, you would be lying if you insisted it wasn’t a pleasurable experience for you. Only it was empty, meaningless. Why else would he keep you around if not for a wet hole to fuck when he was overcome with lust?

The more time you were forced to spend with him, the more you realised that you wanted him to like you for more than your body. To know that you were more than an object for him to play with and entertain himself with and to convince yourself and your stupid feelings that he was not the villain you took him for. To soothe your own conscience.

It could be Stockholm Syndrome, you thought, chewing on your lower lip. But then again, he had told you that you were free to go the very day you arrived, made it seem like it had been your own choice to become a slave to his most carnal desires in exchange for your basic human needs to be met.

The mornings all started the same. You and Gortash had breakfast together, after that he tended to his archduke business and you remained in bed for a while longer, reading the books he owned. He’d call you over at some point, eager for your company—or your body.

As of right now, he was finished with his duties for the day. After a rich lunch, he’d insisted on taking a walk with you by the sea near Wyrm’s Rock to take his mind off things, a Steel Watcher always in close vicinity to protect him.

“You are not focusing at all, are you, dear? Could you at least put in a little bit of effort? Make it a challenge for me!”

You blinked. You’d been staring at the lance board for what must have been several minutes with your knees tucked and your chin resting between them. Gortash had insisted you played with him tonight. Only you had no idea how.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted.

Amusement flashed over Gortash’s handsome face. “You don’t know how to play lance board? Truly?”

You shook your head.

He took a deep breath. “Well, in that case…it is rather simple. There are six pieces in the game that—”

“Why did you increase the tax rates?” You couldn’t help it. The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. You were curious.

Gortash paused, momentary surprise marking his features. “And since when exactly, pray tell, do I discuss political matters with my concubine?”

“It’s just a question. I overheard you passing the bill.”

“You mean you were eavesdropping.”

You frowned. “You knew I was right there.”

“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. But then, nothing.

“So?”

“Protection is expensive, my dear. My Steel Watch requires constant maintenance. Maintenance that requires materials. Materials that cost money.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’ve seen the documents. You have two vaults at the Counting House. Two vaults that are bulging with gold.” You’d caught a glimpse at the numbers, black ink on a fresh roll of parchment one morning while he’d made you keep his cock warm for him at his desk. You swallowed. “If you truly had the city’s best interest at heart you would be reaching into your own pockets to help out. That is true charity.”

Gortash raised an eyebrow. He appeared amused, if anything. “I am giving the citizens of Baldur’s Gate a purpose. By contributing in the form of taxes, they are contributing to keeping the city and themselves safe. And unlike my own fortunes, tax money is in constant circulation.”

You scoffed. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“I will not have you criticize my rule, my dear. Were you a lady or an adviser of mine, I could have your head for this without anyone batting an eyelash.”

Too far. You swallowed. So much for trying to convince yourself he was not a villain. “I apologise.”

“Good. Now, as I said. There are six types of pieces in the game. The first—”

Gortash was interrupted yet again. This time, however, by an airborne knife knocking the piece he pointed to straight to the ground where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Playing with your whore instead of working? You disappoint me, lordling.”

Gortash stiffened visibly. “Orin.”

Your eyes widened when you turned to face the unwanted visitor. She was as pale as the moon itself, with white creamy eyes piercing your soul. And her clothes…where they made of…skin? She staggered closer on bare feet, retrieving her dagger.

“You’ll find I have made much progress with our operation. But unlike you, I am a man of true entertainment. Uninterrupted murder is not up my alley.”

You blinked. Murder? What in the hells was he talking about?

“You are losing your focus, lordling. Do you need a reminder?”

Before you had processed what was happening, Orin grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you flush against her. The smell of rotten meat and blood filled your nostrils, the blade of her dagger pressing into your skin. Her hands were ice-cold.

You gasped for air, paralysed. You willed your legs to kick her, your fingers to scratch her, your head to shatter her chin…but your body did not obey. Fear wrapped its icy claws around you, preventing you from taking action.

One wrong movement…and you would die. Your eyes found Gortash’s, yours pleading, begging. Surely, he would not let her harm you, surely, he would care if you lived after having shared the bed with him so many times…

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Orin. She’s my concubine. The only thing you will accomplish by killing her is making a mess of my office. I can always get a new one at the snap of my fingers.”

Your face fell, heart skipping several beats in a row. Not because of your fear now—but because it broke. Your lips parted. Was that truly how he felt after you’d spread your legs for him, listened to his sorrows, and kept him company? He’d promised to treat you well. Discarding you to the first bloodthirsty killer—whoever this Orin was—would break that promise after all.

“Well…then you won’t mind if I slit her throat? Bathe in her sweet blood and feast on her intestines? Would you still like to fuck her then, lordling?”

For just a second, you believed to catch a glimpse of actual panic glistening in his dark eyes. It was a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by a mask of steel.

“Orin, no, stop it!”

The woman laughed, the stench of stale blood almost making you gag as she pressed the blade even further against your delicate skin until you could feel a slight burn and something warm and sticky running down your throat.

“Orin!” You had not imagined it. There was panic swinging in his voice too now.

With a start, she removed her dagger from your throat and pushed you. You landed on your hands and knees on the hard stone floor, a pained cry escaping your lips due to the impact.

“With Ketheric Thorm dead, you should be on your guard, lordling. Because right now, your little plan is falling apart. And I am so very eager to spill blood in your chambers.”

“Control yourself, Orin. Ketheric’s death is a temporary setback. Once the Netherstone is back in our possession, we have nothing to fear and everything will go according to plan.”

You felt pathetic, cowering on the cold floor and listening to the conversation. You only understood half of what they were saying. Netherstones? What plan? And who was Ketheric Thorm?

“I will gut you if not, Gortash.” She disappeared in a mist of black and red as if her flesh erupted into a million pieces before evaporating.

Only now did you realise how heavily you were breathing. Gortash bent down, one of his hands resting on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“No! No, I’m not alright!” you exclaimed, biting back a sob.

“You would have let her kill me!”

“I would not.”

“Yes! That’s what you said!” Another sob, one you were unable to hold back. You were trembling. You could feel a small trickle of blood running down your cleavage right between your breasts.

Gortash grabbed a hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Showing her I care for you would have been showing her weakness and that I cannot afford. I apologise you were caught between the lines.”

Care.

“How am I supposed to believe that? Am I not a means to an end? You keep acting like I should be grateful you took me in and gave me a roof over my head in exchange for sex and now I almost…” You did not dare finish the thought. Died.

“You stupid girl. Do you truly think I would keep just any woman around my private quarters where I conduct important city business? Do you think I would share my private bed with just any prostitute?”

“I…I…” You hesitated. He was not wrong.

“I am not the kind of man to pursue, my dear. I learned the hard way you simply have to take what you want in life. I liked you. So I had you brought here.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Why must everything you do be a power trip?”

“A power trip? Exercising dominance is crucial to survive in this world. I want you here, by my side. Is that not enough? What else do you want me to tell you?”

He helped you up, retrieving a cloth from the cupboard next to a wash bowl. The gentleness with which he wiped at your throat and your chest to clean the blood off of you surprised you so much yet another sob escaped you.

“I…I want you to tell me…you care about me? I’m not just a whore you can easily replace?”

“I don’t want any of the other whores. I wanted you. And I still do. I have no reason to lie to you, my dear. And you care about me too. I can see it in your eyes. You like the things we do together. Am I right?”

You nodded, unable to utter words for a moment.

“I hate myself for it.”

“Oh? And why is that, my dear?”

“You’re not a good person, Gortash. I can see that. I can feel it with every fibre of my being.”

“But…?”

“But…”

He threw the cloth away and cupped your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t…”

He smirked. He understood.

“I will have some servants fetched to run you a hot bath. I have some business to attend to. Then I will join you.”

“Gortash?”

“No.” He lifted a hand, a thoughtful expression decorating his handsome features for a moment. “I want you to call me by my first name when we’re in private. Enver.”

You frowned, lips parting in shock. The archduke of Baldur’s Gate wanted you to…call him by his first name?

“Enver.” You tasted the name on your tongue. It felt strange and yet…oddly familiar.

“That’s better.”

“Who is Orin? And don’t even think about telling me it doesn’t concern me given she just almost killed me.”

Gortash sighed. “She is…the Chosen of Bhaal, the god of murder and a reluctant ally of mine.”

Your eyes widened, shock rippling through you. Bhaal? The god of murder? One of the dead three?

“And who is…was…Ketheric Thorm?”

“The Chosen of Myrkul, a general who ruled over the Shadow Cursed Lands. Another reluctant ally.” Myrkul. He too was one of the dead three. The rumours you had heard about Gortash… Could that possibly mean…

“Go-…Enver…what deity do you worship?”

He smiled at you wickedly. “You have a sharp mind indeed, my dear. You might just be able to best me in a game of lance board in time.”

“Tell me what deity you worship.”

“You already know, do you not? You have asked me before, when we first met. And I am indeed, my dear, the Chosen of Bane. I will lead this city to glory.”

You took a step back, shock spreading in your veins like spiked vines. “What is this plan? What are the Netherstones?”

“That’s enough questions for now. Go and rest. The servants will be with you shortly.” He strode off, yet before he wrapped his hands around the doorknob, he turned his head and said, “Let me say it again: You belong by my side now, my dear. You have my protection. You have nothing to fear from me—or Orin, I will make sure of that. You might not agree with my methods but you cannot fight your own heart. You can trust me.”

With that, he was gone. Another promise. One that the growing butterflies in your stomach hoped he would never break. You belong by my side now, my dear.

You could leave, he had said a month ago. You should leave. Instead, you found yourself heading over to the wooden tub get rid of your now bloody dress.

[heartfluttered]

i love bg3, and i love being in the fandom but also. i have never felt more alone as someone who also happens to be chinese like.

i don’t like cazador. i don’t think the majority of bg3 fans do. but the fact that i’ve never seen the same amount of grace given to cazador that is given to gortash or even raphael, by fans or in the game, just fucking hurts.

consider gortash and cazador: both gortash and cazador have been hurt, and choose to perpetuate this cycle of hurt. gortash is widely crushed on and shipped with durge. in game, karlach (gortash’s victim, no less) expresses sympathy when she realises what was done to gortash. nothing remotely resembling this sympathy is given to cazador, regardless of in game or in fandom.

i’ve always gotten upset seeing people hate on cazador without allowing space for nuance, and haven’t been able to explain why until now—

characters like raphael and gortash can be loved, regardless of / including all the atrocities they commit. they’re pined after, and shipped, and loved. anytime someone likes cazador, on the other hand, fingers are pointed and everyone goes ‘but he’s an abuser!!’

and that’s just it: cazador is just ‘the abuser’. hatred towards the only memorable asian character never goes challenged or questioned, because he was quite literally written to be the most evil, most abusive character of all.

yes, he’s a terrible person, yes, he’s an abuser, yes, asian people can be abusive just like every other person on earth. it’s understandable why one would hate him, because he’s literally written to be, but the fact that he’s the only asian character i can name in bg3 just really fucking hurts.

fans who love raphael (me included) or gortash (me not included) are much more likely to be ‘excused’ or accepted, whereas any fans who even express an ounce of love for cazador immediately get shut down. why do you think this is. think about the implications of the only memorable asian in the game being the most abusive and most evil. (no, asian side characters and npcs with two lines of dialogue don’t count. no, the one asian face option for tav also doesn’t count)

again, i love bg3, and its changed my fucking life, but its just deeply upsetting to me that this character was written specifically to be hateable with no room for grace or remorse or empathy. nobody questions the blind, pure hatred for him. nobody questions why this hatred isn’t expressed quite as strongly for literally any other evil white character in the game.

i’m not asking for people who sympathize with / relate to astarion’s storyline to like cazador at all— that’s not the point of all this. i’m not telling you which characters to like or dislike. but racist beliefs / predispositions / inclinations do not magically become less racist when the character of color in question is written to be abusive, not to mention the fact that he’s the only asian character in bg3 that i can even name or remember.

growing up, i’ve always wanted to see myself in the fantasy stories that i loved. i’ve given up hoping that i will, but i’m really sad and disappointed that the one character who remotely looks like me in this game that i love with my whole heart is just evil. not nuanced, not tragic, not even a fucking person to most fans or even the creators, regardless of his canon backstory and his morally wrong similarities to other characters that are loved like gortash and raphael.

i love this game and this community so much, but i just feel so . i don’t know, stupid? LMAO maybe i’m just reading too much into it, but i just feel terribly alone in feeling this way

[babygurltash]

Really stupid durgetash AU in which being tadpoled and brain scrambled somehow didn't reset durge to lv1 and they still have access to super high-level magic but they don't know it

So everything starts as normal, and then when Karlach is telling durge about her past with Gortash, durge is like "Wow I wish I knew what that guy's problem is" & I guess Mystra is like "lol sure" and restores durge's memories of gort

So then the rest of the story is just durge being like FUCK I HAVE TO GET BACK TO MY HORRIBLE WIFE?? while still trying to understand wtf is going on with everything except this one (1) guy they're apparently obsessed with

[y-rhywbeth2]

I have been thinking on the prayer for forgiveness that broke us all, and an alternate interpretation of Durge's self-flagellation came to me - it may have more to do with Durge's desperation for Bhaal's approval (and fear of his disapproval) than Bhaal actually giving much of a damn.

While Bhaal doesn't necessarily like the fact that his property is "admiring" one of his old frenemy's pawns, I don't know that he's that emotionally invested either. Durge is encouraged to take lovers (no matter if you get the bad bad ending or the good bad ending, Durge's "duty" involves making more Bhaalspawn, and biology isn't an obstacle). Durge is also permitted to gild their cage, it seems. You're only forced to kill your lover as a punishment, Bhaal doesn't like your stupid mushy feelings or any of your friends, but he's happy to have something to hold over their head. If Durge has things they want and love, Bhaal has things to threaten and break if they struggle against the leash.

Canonically Bhaal "encouraged the pursuit of personal wealth and hobbies" amongst his followers, as long as they don't put their desires before his and it doesn't interfere with their obligations to him. If you fuck around for too long without making the decision to spare/kill Isobel, Sceleritas drops in with "It is rather loathly of Sceleritas to disrupt your romp, but I cannot allow the Master to forget duty, and keep carousing like this." So Durge is allowed to go "carousing", technically.

Even when you meet Gortash, unlike Orin (who you get a whole vision directing you to kill) and with Ketheric (who has the Urge hissing and spitting venom), the Urge is rather quiet. The only opinion Bhaal has on this is the reminder that there will be no ruling the world with Gortash because that would conflict with his plans for you.

It's entirely possible that Bhaal really doesn't care enough about Durge as long as they're doing what they're supposed to, and is either wholly indifferent or at worst merely irritated by the concept of durgetash. Meanwhile the possibility of their father's disapproval or the slightest hint of it is enough to turn Durge into a nervous wreck. So they overcompensate; they're in a state of penitence every night - they're good, they're loyal, they're obedient, they put Father first above all things. Please don't hurt me. Please don't take away the things I love yet. Please still love me.

[little-tyrant-gortash]

I just started to think about something now that I've officially finished the game...

Who else dies from your allies? I mean, unless you summon them during the last boss fight and they fall, then of course, they can, but... no other ally dies in a way you can't prevent it.

Except Gortash.

You can persuade others not to do something stupid and foolish. You can manipulate the circumstances NOT to allow them to be near the threat with you. Halsin asks you to get rid of the goblin leaders? You can recruit him - or you can tell him to stay behind to keep him out of trouble. Jaheira is a bit weak at the time you're about to descend at Moonrise Towers? Gently persuade her to stay back.

But then there's this stubborn motherfucker who sticks with you from the moment you defeat Orin, and he doesn't give you one single fucking chance to tell him to stay in Wyrm's Rock Fortress, uncork a wine, read a book and wait out the shit that's about to go down. Because "we rule as one", and he truly believes in that.

And I do understand. He goes with us because he wants to handle this with us. Together. But he could've lived. He could've been given a chance. Perhaps a 25 Persuasion check to convince him to give you his stone, then perhaps join you in the battle where his chances of survival is in the player's hands.

But, I remind myself... he was never given a chance about his future. He never had a choice concerning his fate. He never had anyone who'd tell him, "No, let me handle this, you stay behind and stay safe."

In the entire game, Gortash is the one and only ally you can not save.

Honestly. After all the shit we've been through for him, after all the shit HE'D been through in his entire fucking life, this is really not fair.

[kawareo]

The bg3 community has a big problem with not thinking the characters are pansexual, when they clearly are, here's all the bad takes i've heard (this from queer people) on tiktok/twitter/etc "Minthara is a lesbian and HATES men" "Gale only like women, and only feminine ones" "Wyll is a gentleman, he would only date women" "Karlach clearly only has dialogue talking about men because of her heteronormative upbringing" These people are insane

Where is that post about how bitchy or mean women in media are always headcanoned as lesbians

Minthara hating men is funny to me though because ingame she openly admires and respects both Ketheric and Gortash for their leadership and/or war mindset

Gale 'i quite enjoy your musk' Dekarios suuure likes only femenine women

I'm standoffish around Wyll so I might be reaching here, but to me it sounds like calling him a Gentleman is just a nicer way of calling him boring. (Also, why couldn't a gentleman date a man??) But also Wyll openly fawns over how pretty Astarion is and about Halsin, more than once, and that's just from the top of my head

Oh wow, a big muscular lady is a lesbian? Call the news, we have something groundbreaking. (I'm still playing a Wylach romance so I do have a bias but cmon) Idk what heteronormative upbringing they're talking about though. Having a mom and a dad? In a world where homophobia doesn't exist and never has? It's so stupid, especially with Karlach whos whole thing is being open and honest about her feelings; but sure, make up straws to reach for that explain away her straight up stating that she wants to fuck a specific man

Headcanons are one thing (like personally, i see Minthara as being slightly more into women than she is into men, and opposite with Karlach) but ffs I don't get it why people need to argue about canon so much when it's literally spelled out for them

Tbh I didn't know this was such a big problem, but i guess it just means I'm happy here in my oblivious corner where people make sense

[underdark-dreams]

I would like to request something soft and sweet. Years after saving the Gate and having moved in with Rolan, Cal, and Lia, Tav is enjoying the day reading/admiring Rolan as he works, and then either a) Tav asks Rolan to marry them or b) Rolan asks Tav to marry him.

Thank you 💕💕

Rolan x fem!Tav

More

Was it wrong to feel selfish about the person you loved? Rolan and Tav finally get a night alone at the Tower to talk about what each of them wants.

Tags: Romantic Fluff, Mild Angst, Marriage Proposals | SFW

Word Count: 4,316 [Read on AO3]

“All right, all right. Three harpies at once, no weapons. How do you win?”

“Do they have the high ground?”

From the settee by the fire, Lia pointed down at her little brother as though he’d brought up a key point. “You’re on even terrain.”

“Right, this one’s easy.” Cal settled back comfortably against the rug with hands clasped behind his head. “I start yelling loud enough that I can’t hear the harpy song. Then, I charge at whichever one’s singing loudest and knock the wind out of them with my horns, and then, you know." He waved a hand around vaguely. "Rough 'em up."

“So fucking stupid—” Lia fell sideways in her seat, clutching her side with laughter.

“I keep telling you, you’re always forgetting about the horns.” Cal jabbed a finger at his forehead. “Natural advantage, Lia, you should know this by now.”

The absurd conversation was impossible to block out, but Rolan made an attempt as he bent over his desk. Behind him, he felt Tav's chest reverberating with laughter at his siblings. 

She was in one of her affectionate moods tonight. She'd drawn up a chair behind his in order to rest her cheek against his back, one wrist draped loosely over his shoulder. 

Rolan didn't mind the closeness—he never did from her. But between her warmth and his siblings' ridiculous game of what-if, he'd barely written one paragraph in the past ten minutes. He finally gave up and set aside his quill.

Tav shifted slightly on his shoulder. "How's Gale?" She asked, perhaps feeling guilty about interrupting his concentration. 

“He’s well. His new class has a few with real promise, according to Tara.”

"I can't believe Tara likes you more than me," she mumbled suddenly against his back. "I met her first."

Her petulant tone made his mouth twitch into a smile. He would’ve turned to kiss her if they were alone. Instead, Rolan only pressed his lips to the hand draped over his shoulder. "Tressyms know a good wizard when they see one, dearest."

“Makes two of us,” she replied. The soft words ghosted across the skin on his neck, raising goosebumps under his collar.

It suddenly seemed like a very good idea to tell his siblings to get lost. Rolan was saved the necessity by a stroke of good timing. Near the fireplace, there was the soft clinking of plate armor as Lia got to her feet.

“Right, I’m off—” Lia buckled her scabbard around her waist as she rose, her shortsword tip clanking against the greaves over her shins. “Can’t be late to lead my first evening patrol.”

It had never occurred to Rolan before that Lia might end up in the Flaming Fist. He had to remind himself that the company’s reputation had improved considerably in the year since Florrick had succeeded Ulder Ravengard. Corruption and bad behavior had flourished under Gortash, but Florrick had done much to clean the Fists’ ranks of the worst—at least within the city walls. 

As he looked at her now, standing tall in her emblazoned surcoat, Rolan realized that his young sister was quite grown up. She’d earned a promotion to Gauntlet faster than any of them expected, a fact she loved to remind them of—especially Rolan. Lia took care of others the way she always had, and now she could take care of herself. The thought was somehow bittersweet in Rolan’s chest.

"Me as well," Cal chimed in from the floor. Though he only stretched arms and legs out long with a massive yawn.

“Don’t rush off,” Rolan drawled, but there was affection in it.

“Highberry’s are across the street, I got a few minutes.” Cal scrubbed his face with both hands as if to wake himself. “We got new ones at the orphanage last week, twin boys. They’re good kids, but gods, do they play hard…feel like my back’s aged about ten years…”

Lia stepped over to give him a hand up with a chuckle. “Read the room, Cal. The lovers need their alone time.”

Cal glanced around at the two in question. Tav still rested her cheek on Rolan’s shoulder with an expression of dreamy happiness, while Rolan was failing to hide a scowl. Lia knew how he hated when either of them used that word.

“Ah, right—” Cal slipped to his feet, sounding eager to be off all of a sudden. “I’ll be back after sunrise. Keep the place together while I’m gone?” He added, a fine joke considering Cal was always the one breaking things.

Rolan’s only response was to wave his quill behind him in a shooing motion. Tav called a friendly goodbye to brother and sister as they made their way down the main staircase, chatting as they went.

Once their footsteps had retreated completely, her restraint evaporated. “Thank the Gods, come here—”

Rolan barely managed to save his inkwell from overturning as she twisted to launch her torso across his lap, capturing his face in both hands for an enthusiastic kiss. His near arm gripped around her middle, no doubt leaving ink stains from his fingers against her linen shirt—he found himself unable to care about anything but the sweet taste of her lips.

They each pulled away for breath at the same moment. Tav’s grip lingered, her fingers combing back through his hair gently to clasp together at his nape.  

“Hello,” she grinned. Her eyes roamed over his face like he was everything.

Rolan’s palm brushed down her back, utterly content. “Hello.”

They took each other in like that for a long moment, just enjoying the quiet closeness. Her fingers smoothed and combed the hair back from beside Rolan’s horns needlessly—a fussy gesture that nevertheless brought a hum of contentment to his chest.

Apparently satisfied that she had him put back to sorts, Tav’s hands moved to rest on Rolan’s shoulders. “Got more work to do?”

Though she phrased it as a question, Rolan sensed she already knew the answer. He let out a reluctant sigh.

“Go on,” said Tav, not waiting for his reply. Rolan’s shoulders received a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll wait for you.”

With one last soft kiss, she slid off his lap and away. Rolan said nothing, but he instantly missed the warm weight of her against him. 

Tav retrieved her current reading from the shelves behind and curled up on the now-vacant settee near the fireplace. Though his spirit rebelled, Rolan picked up his quill again to continue writing his last few replies. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could join her. 

For a while the vaulted room settled into a quiet, echoing lull. There was the crackle of magical flame in the great stone hearth; the rhythmic scratch of ink against parchment; the faint whistle of an evening breeze out on the open balcony beyond. Periodically, he heard Tav turn another page of her book.

Before long he’d reached the final sealed envelope on the day’s pile. As Rolan stretched his hand for it, he caught sight of Tav watching him over the back of her seat.

“What?”

“Just admiring,” she sighed, eyes sparkling. “You look so handsome when you’re concentrating like that.”

Rolan’s brow wrinkled playfully at her. “Am I not usually handsome?”

“Always.”

“Hmm. You just think that because you’re in love with me,” Rolan replied curtly. He turned back to his work in an attempt to hide the way she made him smile and flush like an idiot.

“Both can be true,” she called back, not denying anything. But Rolan heard the shuffle of pages as she returned to her reading.

It took him a moment to regain concentration on his work. Rolan’s eyes reread several lines of the letter before him multiple times. But this one was truly quite important—a missive from the archwizards’ council at Blackstaff Tower. They were inquiring about his arcane research, apparently intrigued for the first time in years by his own Tower’s new ownership. He dove back in to focus on answering their questions in detail.

Half an hour and five sheets of parchment later, Rolan finally surfaced back to reality. He straightened up and promptly felt a pop in his neck from his stiff writing posture. The last light of sunset had slipped from the sky, leaving inky blackness behind each vaulted window of the cathedral-like interior.

As he rolled his aching shoulders, Rolan glanced toward Tav—only to find that the seat by the fire was empty. Rolan glanced back around the room, finding the rest of it empty as well. 

Had she given up waiting and gone up to bed? The thought disappointed him, though it opened up other possibilities. 

But Tav had told him she'd wait, and she wouldn't lie. As he rose from his desk to search for her, Rolan caught a faint metallic tap from the balcony.

Her silhouette was cast in relief against the dark sky. It was a moonless night; the pale orange glow of lamplight from the streets far below was the only light lining the edge of her figure, that and what little firelight streamed out through the highly vaulted doorway. Tav leaned on her elbows, the pewter wine glass under her fingers tapping an absent little rhythm against the stone railing. It was one of her habits when deep in thought.

Rolan allowed himself a moment to admire her. Seeing her in a quiet pose like this was one of his favorite things in all the Realms. Tav had become so many things to so many people in the short year he’d known her: hero, savior, diplomat, even rather a politician. 

But tonight, for now…she was just Tav. His Tav.

Rolan felt a pang of something like guilt in his stomach. It was by no means the first time he’d had such a feeling about her. His; possessive, controlling. It reminded him of the way he used to think before she came into his life.

For a long time, Rolan had felt a need to control the people he loved. If he didn’t, who would? Control just went hand in hand with protection. Caring for others was a luxury, and if the events of his life had taught him anything up to that point, it was that fate and misfortune were always looking for ways to separate you from what you cared about most.

And Tav had slipped so easily into the deepest depths of his heart. At first begrudgingly, resentfully…Rolan hadn’t exactly seen her as a welcome addition to their lives when they’d first met long ago on the road to Baldur’s Gate. 

Right now, it was impossible to imagine anything but love for her. 

As Rolan watched a soft breeze ruffle the ends of her hair, something uncertain bloomed inside of him. Was it wrong to feel selfish like this about the person you loved? The question hung unanswered in his chest. Rolan felt its weight there tonight, like a heavy stone dragging on his heart. 

His hand absently brushed against the small leather pouch he kept tied on his belt—there was a small clink of metal against metal from inside.

“Just going to stand there?”

Tav’s voice brought him back to reality in the most pleasant way. Rolan blinked to find that his legs had carried him forward to the arched doorway of their own volition. 

Tav stood a few strides away, watching him over her shoulder with a bemused smile. The firelight streaming out from behind him softly illuminated her features. 

In the next moment, Rolan had closed the distance to tilt her face into a kiss. Her empty cup clattered forgotten to the stone tiles at their feet. Would he ever tire of the way her arms circled around his shoulders like that? 

Rolan didn’t think it was likely—he nuzzled against her cheek as their lips parted, inhaling her familiar and comforting scent.

“What’s with you tonight?” Tav laughed, the sound breathy and soft against his collar.

“What?” Rolan protested, drawing her away slightly to examine her face. “Can’t I appreciate the woman I love?”

A happy flush rose to her cheeks, unnoticeable in the dim to someone without Rolan’s precise vision. But notice he did, just as she caught the way his golden eyes traveled over her expression. Tav pressed her face back into his shoulder as her arms squeezed tighter around him. 

“I wish we had more time,” she said against the crook of his neck.

Rolan tried to quell the instinctive panic that rose in his chest at her words. Instead, he stroked a hand over her hair. “What do you mean?”

The way she paused before answering allowed Rolan’s heart just enough time to wind up to a brisk rhythm against his ribcage. Eventually, Tav leaned back to look at him. Her expression had grown quite serious.

“I know that you—” She cut herself off, then wet her lips and began again. “Rolan, this place is your life. I’m not under any misconceptions that all this—” She tipped her head and looked sideways as if to indicate the Tower itself. “—That any of it’s going away any time soon. You know that, right?”

Her face tilted toward him with utter sincerity. Rolan found that his thoughts were forming with an odd slowness, as if swimming around his brain through something gelatinous.

“And you’ve been very understanding,” he managed to tell her. The guilt from earlier returned its grip over his chest. “More than I deserve.”

She sighed as her hand rose to his cheek. “Thank you for saying that…but you wouldn’t if you knew how often I daydream about kidnapping you away all for myself.”

Before Rolan could find a response to that, Tav had stepped back out of his grip with a soft curse.

“Damn—” She swore again, then wrung her hands with a shaky, anxious laugh. “This shouldn’t be this hard.”

Rolan still didn’t understand quite what she was saying, a sensation that he found deeply uncomfortable. It made him feel like a vessel adrift. He clasped hands behind his back to anchor himself, collecting his features into a guarded expression.

“Please,” Rolan invited her, tipping his horns to her in a way that felt awkwardly formal. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” She chewed the inside of her lip as she watched him. There was a tense pause, and then she launched in abruptly. 

“I’ve been thinking our life here in your Tower. You and me—us. And,” she added, “I’ve been thinking about your work. How much it means to you…how far you’ve come in just a year.”

Tav gave him a small smile, as if casting back to those tense and awkward times when they’d first known each other. Then her face fell again. “Sometimes it just feels like there’s something missing.”

Rolan found he had to glance away from her for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Are you unhappy?” He asked her slowly.

“What? Not at all—” Tav shook her head with vehemence. “You make me so happy, Rolan, you have no idea. It’s just that I—I’m not always satisfied,” she finished weakly. 

“I see.” Rolan kept his face very still, but his pulse beat painfully in his throat. 

She was unsatisfied with the life of an archmage’s partner. It was perfectly understandable—before she’d come to live with him, Tav traveled far and wide, sometimes leaving the city for a week to visit her far-flung companions across Faerûn and the very hells themselves. 

A life spent cooped up in a tower, no matter how grand—how could he have ever thought it would be enough for her?

Rolan’s guilty conscience was deserved. He had been too selfish with her. He wanted her safe; he wanted her here. Most of all, he wanted Tav to want to be with him.

And Rolan had been so sure that she did. Perhaps he’d let the strength of his own feelings mislead him.

Rolan was painfully aware of the silence stretching on between them. Another evening breeze stirred the air, and as it rustled through their clothing, Tav’s eyes searched his face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

Behind his back, Rolan’s hands clenched where she couldn’t see them. Right now he was thinking of the small leather pouch that had hung from his belt for months, and the two small metal objects it contained, and the many ways he had imagined offering one of them to her. But none of those were things he should tell her now.

“Nothing,” Rolan answered aloud. “Only that I’ve been rather foolish.”

In response to that, a strange, puzzled expression passed over her face. Then her lips parted. 

“Ohhhh—” The sound rose from deep in her chest, a pained exhale. “No, Rolan, no no—”

Tav stepped to grasp his face between her hands with such speed that Rolan nearly flinched in surprise at the contact.

“I’m such an idiot,” she confessed to him. Her voice was very small all of a sudden. “I know I might not have the right to ask you, Rolan—but I don’t want less. I want more.”

Rolan’s eyes traveled back and forth between hers as if there was some hidden message he was missing there. “More?” He repeated, questioning. 

Tav nodded her head very slowly at him. “More of you. More of us.”

In the next instant it felt like the weight tangled around Rolan’s heart had snapped its line and plummeted straight down into his stomach. As he watched the firelight reflected earnestly in Tav’s eyes, realization shot up his spine like a shockwave. 

The force of his relief made his head spin. Rolan wanted to say a dozen different things to her all at once. Unfortunately, he found that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth at the moment.

Instead—in a rare moment of clarity that was all reflex and no logic—Rolan felt himself sinking to one knee in front of her.

“Why are you—” 

Tav’s eyes went wide as she followed his face down to where he landed. Her hands fell from where they’d held him to hang down limp at her sides; her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a flight of stairs.

“How can you not know by now?” 

What a terrible way to begin, he thought—yet those were the words Rolan found leaving his mouth. Trying to right his thoughts, he reached for one of her hands and took it between both his own.

“Forgive me,” Rolan blurted out. “I swear I’ve practiced this before, but—I can’t remember all the best bits just now.”

Tav shook her head at him as if punch-drunk. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she whispered hoarsely.

A nervous bark of laughter escaped him. “Have you ever known me to be burdened with an excess of humility?”

Despite the electricity now swirling between them, the corners of Tav’s mouth twitched upward. “Point taken.”

Rolan used the moment to gather himself. His tongue suddenly felt two sizes too large, and he swallowed with effort against his dry mouth.

“You’ve always done so much for me. From the first moment…every moment. You’re the reason why I have Cal and Lia, why I have everything—” Rolan’s eyes left her only for a moment to pass up over the great spire of the Tower above them. 

From his periphery, Tav opened her mouth to protest.

“Please listen,” Rolan begged her before she could speak. He wished he’d thought this through even a little; his knee was already starting to ache against the stone, but he pushed through the discomfort.

Tav’s figure froze still in response as she watched him. Only her hand shook slightly between his palms.

“You must know what you mean to me,” Rolan murmured. “You’ve given me so much more than I deserve. You’ve loved me more than anyone…better than anyone. But—” He drew her hand a bit closer to his chest. “But I’m afraid there’s one more thing I have to ask you for.”

Tav’s lips were parted in anticipation as she hung on his words. She stood so motionless it was like kneeling at the foot of a beautiful statue. Only her wide eyes moved continuously over his face, and Rolan felt he could lose himself in them completely if he gazed too long.

“Let me give you more,” he asked simply. “Let me give you everything.”

“You—you damn wizard—” 

As she broke her silence, Tav’s expression was flickering somewhere between amusement and tears. She was shaking her head at him, moisture pricking at the corners of her eyes. “If you don’t say it plain in the next—”

“Marry me.”

Though they stood under open sky, the two words seemed to echo with deafening force against his own ears. The question hung like a tangible physical thing, reverberating painfully in the narrow space between their bodies. Rolan could only grip her hand like a lifeline and wait for her to say something—anything.

Finally, Tav burst out into a laugh. 

Or was it was a sob? 

It was some strange combination of both, a choked sound of relief rising in her throat even as Rolan watched liquid suddenly spill and roll down each of her cheeks. Before he knew what was happening, Tav had also dropped to her knees in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Whatever responses Rolan had anticipated, this was one he didn’t plan for. He could only freeze and watch her cry and wait for things to make sense again.

“I don’t know,” Tav hiccoughed through the rapid tears that were streaming down her face now. Her lips trembled as her hands found his shoulders, clutching two handfuls of his robes. “I d-don’t know,” she repeated. “But I want you, Rolan.”

He had just enough hope to take that as a yes. 

Rolan folded Tav’s body into his own with near crushing force. He was now overwhelmingly grateful for their absurd position kneeling together on the cold stone of the balcony. It was unthinkable to have her anywhere but in his arms right now.

“Yes, by the way—” Tav’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, but her chest shook against him with unmistakable laughter now.

“I had plans,” Rolan answered against her hair, half to himself. “None of this is right, hells, I swear I had so many plans—”

“Hold on,” Tav replied in a trembling laugh. She pulled away gently, just enough to notch one hand under Rolan’s ear. Her face radiated joy despite the damp skin on her cheeks. “Rolan, what on earth could be wrong right now?”

Everything, he wanted to groan out. But he bit the word back. 

Instead, Rolan ducked his head to fumble with the drawstrings of the leather bag fastened to his belt. Tav’s fingers dropped from his jaw as she watched on in silent curiosity. 

He shook the open bag over his hand. With a tiny clink, two rings poured from it and out onto Rolan’s outstretched palm. Even on a moonless night, the metal seemed to glow from within with a silver-blue fire.

“Mithril,” Tav breathed in pure delight.

The observation was so unexpected, yet so thoroughly Tav, that Rolan let out a choked laugh.

She touched fingers to her lips. “How long have—when did you—?”

“The week you moved in,” Rolan answered. The way her eyes flicked up to his in pure adoration made Rolan’s heart swell in his chest, but he continued. “That’s when I gave Dammon the commission. Of course it took months to find a vein of it down in the Underdark, I nearly went mad, you have no i—”

The words were stopped up as Tav’s lips collided against his. Rolan’s fist closed over the twin metal bands just as his hand was trapped between their chests.

She kissed him so long and so hard that Rolan gasped for air a bit when she broke away.

“Do you like it?” Rolan asked, needing her answer more than his lungs needed air.

“You’re kidding me.” Tav blinked at him. “Rolan, if you don’t put that thing on my finger this fucking minute, I swear I might have to reconsider.”

He wasn’t about to chance it. Rolan slipped the band onto the finger of her outstretched hand without hesitation; it fit her perfectly. She followed suit, her hand shaking slightly with excitement as the ring slid down to his knuckle.

For a moment they just held opposite hands out beside each other in quiet admiration. Then Rolan linked his fingers with hers, pulling their palms together. 

He supposed the rings were supposed to come after the vows, not before—but the sight of them on their interlocked fingers was too perfect to be wrong.

A moment later they helped each other back to their feet, both laughing at their stiff knees and the pins-and-needles in their legs. 

Rolan felt giddy as a youth. He couldn't stop kissing her; his arms circled her firmly into him, his tail looping around and over her hips in a caress. As Rolan watched the pure happiness radiating from Tav’s face, his heart was the lightest it had ever been.

“Now what?” He asked eventually.

Tav sighed with contentment in his arms. “Whatever you want.”

“I want to take you to bed,” Rolan answered without hesitation. Words had grown tiresome; he could think of no better way to demonstrate exactly the strength of his feelings for her right now.

In response, she separated to tug his hand with both of hers back under the doorway. 

“Then we’d better go,” she said, walking backwards so she could flash him a coy smile. “Because I want my fiancé to tell me about all those ways he didn't just propose.”

[enversimp]

some of my (un?)popular gortash opinions

• his vanilla model cannot be improved. no smooth face, kpop, youthful mod can "fix" him. babygirl is literally perfect

• his vanilla hair is perfect. while i appreciate the artbook concept with the long hair and beads, it's just not him, and the mods don't do the style justice. final fantasy sasuke haircut is fine.

• gortash/tav pairing is just as delicious as durgetash, it's just that durgetash has more in-game content. gortash is still willing to share his kingdom with tav, just as he would with durge. tell me that isn't him simping.

• durgetash is unhealthy, filthy fantasy fulfillment. i love it, but no, they wouldn't fix each other. they'd eat each other alive. and mourn their ill fates the whole time.

• i find it incredibly sad that gortash, durge, ketheric can no longer act for themselves. they've sworn fealty to the dead three and any deviation leads to their demise and eternal torture. if they could be redeemed, it would have to start with literally destroying bhaal, bane, and myrkul (somehow???)

• gortash being killed by the netherbrain is kind of a fuck you to the players. i understand the scope of the game is humongous and definitely don't want to seem ungrateful, but the ending of the game feels so linear. there's 1 (one) real ending, and the rest are a ten second cinematic before the credits roll. let me rule alongside gortash, seeing how larian put effort into proving to me he fully intended to rule with tav/durge. lmao i just want corrupt royal dlc where you fight with gortash over what to wear to a stupid gala